


3000 Miles, Give Or Take

by Dangerousnotbroken



Series: 3000 Miles, Give or Take [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Charlie Ships It, Drunken make-outs, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Humour, Long Distance Friendship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Pining, Smut and Fluff, Top!Cas, adorable idiots, bottom!Dean, charlie ships it so hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4749500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's best friend lives just shy of 3000 miles away, and they've never been in the same room. That hasn't stopped Dean from falling stupidly in love, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3000 Miles, Give Or Take

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [GraduateGraduate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GraduateGraduate/pseuds/GraduateGraduate) and [Petrichor_Amber](archiveofourown.org/users/Petrichor_Amber/pseuds/Petrichor_Amber), both of whom made this work so much better with their notes and are just generally amazing people.

_7:51pm_

_So I’ve got a meeting in Atlanta later this month and I was thinking, if you’re not too busy, we could grab a drink while I’m in town._

 

Dean stares at the message on his phone for a solid five minutes before attempting to answer, and spends ten more watching the cursor flash on a blank screen before he can bring himself to type out anything even remotely approaching an answer. He deletes it, starts over, deletes it again, goes back and reads the message one more time to make sure he’s not having an inexplicable hallucination, and then stares at the blank screen again for good measure. Finally, after all the back and forth, what he comes up with as a response lacks anything approaching the cavalier wit he’d like to be associated with but at least it doesn’t come off as desperate or stupid or panicked. He hopes.

_8:25pm_

_That sounds great. Let me know what the dates are and I’ll make sure I’m available._

Oh, he’s available alright. Dean has been nothing _but_ available going on six years now (if you’re talking in the romantic sense), having made himself plenty available for one night stands and random hookups. But if Castiel is going to be in town, then Dean will clear his entire schedule from the minute that plane lands until the second Cas has to check back in to fly home and not regret a single ounce of the effort it’ll take him, not begrudge even one favour he needs to call in in order to make this thing happen. Dean never thought, not once, that he’d actually find himself in a scenario where he and Cas would occupy the same state, let alone the same room, and there’s not a thing he can fathom that’s going to stop him from finally getting to meet the guy.

It’s probably ridiculous that they’ve never met, really. Castiel has been what essentially amounts to Dean’s best friend for a long time,despite the geographical hurdle. Originally they were just strangers on a message board yelling about what ruined the Star Wars prequels. Dean was adamant it was the addition of Jar Jar Binks that destroyed the iconic series. Cas argued until he was (Dean assumes) blue in the face that it was the horrible writing of Padme Amidala’s character that took a compelling story and made it difficult to connect with. It went back and forth for days via a long comment thread on the original post, and another couple days through private messages after a moderator locked the thread before one of them finally suggested that they could both probably agree that Hayden Christensen’s acting was worse than either of their original arguments. Dean maintains that Cas extended that particular olive branch; Cas swears it was Dean. Either way, the argument ended, and in the years that have passed since, they’ve become as close as any two people who have never actually laid eyes on each other could possibly be.

They’ve been friends for seven years. Where one could be seen posting on message boards the other was always soon to follow. They exchanged phone numbers and started sending text messages, had weekly skype chat sessions, and somewhere along the line Dean came to the staggering realization that he was head over heels, dramatically, romantically, stupidly in love with a man he’d never even met in person. So yeah, Cas coming to town was kind of a big deal. Kind of a huge, overwhelmingly big deal and as much as it’s a thing he’s been silently hoping for since he fell for his friend it also sends him into a tailspin of panic because all of Dean’s daydreams about this thing actually ever happening have centered around Cas returning his feelings and have usually devolved into passionate, messy sex and not a single one has ever addressed any kind of platonic socializing. And Castiel has never given Dean any kind of concrete indication or even a hint that he’s as ridiculously, comically, undeniably in love as Dean is. Obviously, Cas likes him. You don’t spend seven years talking to a person nearly every single day if you don’t consider them an important friend. But there’s nothing Dean can point to with any real certainty and hold it up as a reason to believe Cas thinks of him as anything more than a really, _really_ good friend. So he’s forced to file his feelings squarely in the “unrequited” category, even as much as he wishes like crazy he could do otherwise.

_8:26pm_  


_Fantastic. I land at 5:15 on Friday the 18 th and I’ll be in town until 10pm on the 27th. I have meetings on the Monday and Tuesday but I’m on my own time for the rest of the trip, so we can hang out whenever you’re free._

_8:29 pm  
_

_You’re in town for 9 days for 2 days’ worth of meetings?_

_8:31 pm_  


_I needed a vacation. You know I never really take time off. Neither do you._

_8:32 pm_  


_This is true. Glad you’re finally taking my advice. Maybe I should take a few days off while you’re in town too._

_8:34 pm_  


_It wouldn’t be a terrible idea. I could use a local to show me around._

_8:35 pm  
I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got plenty of days banked. They should be able to do without me for at least part of that week. If you don’t want to take transit I could be talked into picking you up at the airport. You’d owe me though. You could pay me back in pie._

_8:40pm_  


_I think that sounds fair._

Dean calls Charlie in a panic.

“This better be important,” she gripes. “You know I have Raids on Thursdays.” Dean does know this. She’s told him many times. She also never hesitates to answer his calls even if she’s in the middle of a dungeon run or a raid or taking on a world boss or literally anything else she might be doing in World of Warcraft. She might be all “ _for the horde!”_ but she’s also a damn good friend and she’s never left him hanging before.

“Castiel is coming to town next week,” Dean tells her, and at least some of the emotion seeps into his voice even though he tries very hard to be stoic and calm.

“ _What???_ ” she bellows, shrill. “Hang on a sec, I gotta log off for this. The guild will just have to take this one without me.” There’s a rustling and the sound of keystrokes as she informs her guild of the reason for her abandonment, then she’s back on the line. “Ok so, first question, what the fuck, and follow up, how, why, and excuse me?”

“He, uh,” Dean starts, and he’s too excited to think straight. “He’s got a meeting in town next Monday and I guess he’s taking some vacation days while he’s here and we’re going to go for a drink or something. And I offered to pick him up at the airport and he said I should take some days off while he’s here and show him around town and I….” Dean sighs

“Wow,” Charlie laughs. “You’re so screwed. So totally screwed. You’re going to take the week off aren’t you?”

“I was thinking of taking a few days, yeah.”

“Take the whole week off, you idiot.” She tells him. “You have been in love with this guy for as long as I’ve known you, and you think you’re going to be able to focus on work while he’s in town? How are you going to seduce him if you’re at the office?”

“I never said I was going to seduce him,” Dean protests weakly.

“Right. Sure. I believe you. Because you haven’t been dreaming of this day for years.”

“Just because I’m hung up on him doesn’t mean he sees me as anything more than a friend.” It’s unclear whether Dean is trying to convince himself or Charlie of this fact.

“Dude. He’s in town for one day of meetings—“

“Two days,” Dean interjects.

“Two days of meetings, and he’s turning it into a week vacation, and he wants you to take time off work too. Does he even know anyone else in Atlanta?” There’s the sound of a beer can opening in the background of Charlie’s house.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. He hasn’t mentioned anyone, anyway.” Dean sighs and drops down onto the couch, but he’s quickly back on his feet, too anxious and antsy to do anything other than pace.

“So as far as you know his only reason for extending the trip in town is to spend more time with your stupid ass.” Charlie has this gloriously blunt way about her that Dean finds refreshing.

“I don’t actually know that,” he says.

“Ok well, whatever. You also don’t know for a fact that he isn’t interested. So take your fucking vacation and go spend a couple amazing days hanging out with the guy you’re carrying a torch for. You’ve been dying to meet this guy forever. Whatever it is, it’ll be fun.” Charlie sighs. “But you know, just my two cents. You don’t take an extra week in a city you’ve never been to so you can spend more time with a person you’re not harbouring at least some kind of emotions for. You’re gonna be calling me next week and you’re gonna be like ‘Charlie you were so right you’re a genius why did I ever doubt you he’s totally in love with me.’ And then you’re going to hang up, because I love you but there are certain things I don’t want to hear and you’re probably going to be doing at least three of those things.”

Dean doesn’t share her optimism, but he does agree that whatever happens, it’s awesome that he’s finally going to get to meet Castiel.

The next week, of course, is one filled with anxiety and panic cleaning. It occurs to Dean when he gets home from work on Monday that if he’s going to be spending time with Castiel (even if it doesn’t go how Charlie predicts) that he’s probably going to have company at his home at some point. And its not like his apartment is disgusting; he’s a fairly clean person, mostly. But it’s currently got sort of a haphazard, lived-in kind of look to it. It’s clean but untidy. And there’s this overwhelming, intense kind of anticipation that filters through into his every waking thought leading up until Cas’ arrival.

So he cleans.

He tidies and he organizes and he scrubs and he soaks and tries valiantly, vainly, to channel the intensity of his mood into something productive. It’s effective in the sense that by the time he falls into bed on Thursday night there’s not really anything in the apartment he feels like he could have done a better job of cleaning. He’s not, unfortunately, any less anxious about meeting Cas. Oh sure, it passed the time well. Between cleaning and flail-texting at Charlie and an impromptu Tuesday dinner with Sam he’s managed to distract himself fairly effectively over the course of the week. But it’s all still there whenever he frees his mind enough to pay attention.

Work on Friday is a straight up clusterfuck. Dean does a piss-poor job of feigning interest in the tasks at hand throughout the morning and around lunch he realizes that if he’s going to leave the office an hour early to get across town to the airport to pick Cas up, he needs to get his perfectly toned ass in gear because the amount of work he needs to get off his desk before the weekend is entirely disproportionate to the time left in the day. He’s still coming in Monday and Tuesday of course; there’s no point in cutting out of work if Cas is in meetings all day, but that still leaves three days next week where shit’s going to pile up and he highly doubts the hours he is going to put in will be the most productive. So after lunch Dean ends up in a flurry of frantic multitasking and project management and he comes out on top, if a little frazzled. By the time he noses the Impala into a more-snug-than-desired parking spot at the airport and makes his way to the arrivals gate, Dean’s nerves are buzzing and his brain is pretty much reduced to monosyllabic thoughts and basic pattern recognition. If he doesn’t get his shit together, the first words he’s going to mutter to the guy he’s been in love with for years are going to be “You Cas, Me Dean.” And he’d really like to make a better impression than that.

Dean squints at the small letters on the arrivals board for a moment before remembering that he doesn’t actually know which flight Cas is on. There are several coming in from Seattle during the five o’clock hour and between the on-times and the delays it’s pretty hard to guess which one he’s looking for. Cas is either already off his plane or stuck on the tarmac or delayed by thirty five minutes, so basically take your pick. He’s glancing down at his phone to see if Cas texted him when he landed or whatever when his thoughts are interrupted by a voice he’d recognize anywhere (because he’s been hearing it in his wettest of dreams for more years than he’ll ever admit), and his eyes snap up to finally, after all this time, settle on a face he’s seen enough pictures of to memorize in detail.

“Dean?” the voice says again, but he’s momentarily speechless. Cas is standing in front of him in a rumpled trench coat and Dean wants to tell him what a poor choice it is for September in Georgia and he wants to tell him that his eyes are uncannily blue and he wants to tell him that he’s ass over tea kettle in love but all he can manage is a strangled sound that he turns into a cough in hopes of recovering even a little bit of his dignity. Later, he’ll say he swallowed a bug, but right now he knows he’s just standing there gaping and doing nothing whatsoever to endear himself to the friend he’s finally meeting. Finally, Dean composes himself enough to force out a response.

“Hey Cas,” he supplies, beaming. “How was your flight?” It’s legitimately the most mundane question Dean could possibly be asking but it’s also a safe question, one that prevents Dean from asking something stupid like ‘can I kiss you,’ or ‘did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’ which he is honestly, at this point, about half a second away from doing if he’s not careful.

“Long. Cramped. No crying babies though so I suppose I should count my blessings,” he tells Dean with a sigh, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms. A small carry-on bag sits at his feet.

“I bet you’re pretty tired then eh? Let’s get your bag, I can take you to your hotel so you can check in and get some rest.”

Cas shakes his head, laughing. “Ahhh….no. It’s the middle of the afternoon in Seattle. I don’t need sleep, I need dinner and a drink or possibly five. Airports are hell.”

“Right. Seattle is three hours behind Atlanta, not ahead,” Dean says awkwardly. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans to quell the desire to fidget or to reach out and touch Cas. He’s really not sure what his hands would do given the chance. An airport is probably the wrong place to find out. “Ok well we’ll drop your stuff off then and uh…food.” Dean turns and makes for the sign indicating the baggage carousel.

“Hey!” Cas calls after him, and Dean stops in his tracks. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get your bag?” Dean replies, shrugging his shoulders. He’s slow to turn around, so Cas has already caught up to him by the time he’s facing back the way he came, up close and in Dean’s personal space.

“Not so fast. I’ve been waiting to meet you in the flesh for years now. You think you’re getting out of here without hugging me?” Cas doesn’t give him a chance to reply. He throws his arms around Dean, one over his shoulder and one around his waist. It pulls Dean down to compensate for the slight difference in their heights and he’s forced to reciprocate. It seems unlikely that Cas is going to let go before he gets his hug so despite Dean’s very solid reservations about, you know, touching, he goes in for it, holds Cas close to him. It’s kind of awesome. Cas isn’t a small man but he fits in Dean’s arms perfectly. The hug seems to go on forever and yet when Cas loosens his grip to pull away it feels like he’s been cheated and it’s all over too soon.

The drive from the airport to Cas’ hotel is full of excited chatter. The two speak frequently enough that there’s not technically any catching up to do but at the same time, face-to-face conversation is so different than text or phone calls or email or skype. There’s very little dead air between them and nothing approaching awkwardness. It’s the easiest thing, talking to Cas, and Dean feels himself settling into a content sort of relaxation that he can’t recall ever experiencing before, certainly not any time recently. He doesn’t even swear at the taxi that cuts him off as he rounds the corner onto Peachtree Center Ave.

“Is there anything in this city that isn’t named after peach trees?” Cas wonders aloud. Dean shoots him a look.

“You gonna start badmouthing peaches now? Them’s fightin’ words,” he warns teasingly. “If you’d ever tried my mom’s peach cobbler, maybe you’d understand. It’s a thing of beauty. It’s almost better than pie. Almost. Maybe I’ll get her to give me the recipe sometime and you’ll see.”

“I’ll remember that,” Cas promises, shaking his head softly. “Wait a few minutes? I’ll just drop off my bag and get changed, and we can go find somewhere for dinner.”

They end up in an Applebee’s of all places because it’s close and familiar and Dean could probably use a drink almost as bad as Cas could at this point. Sure, it’s a shitty place to take someone on a first date but this isn’t actually a date, Dean has to keep reminding himself. He just wishes it were. They each order a beer as soon as the waitress comes around but while Dean flips his menu open and starts filtering through the options, Cas just toys awkwardly with the little metal nubs on the corners of his own menu and gets this lost look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks when he notices that Cas hasn’t moved. “Not hungry?”

“No,” Cas counters, “Starving. I’m just… It’s surreal. It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Yeah,” Dean replies with a genuine smile on his face. “It’s good to see you too, Cas.”

Dinner turns into an evening and one beer turns into several, and Dean’s car is still parked in the visitor stalls of Cas’ hotel which means Dean is taking a cab home tonight but it doesn’t seem important. There have been lots of opportunities for either of them to suggest calling it a night but no one seems interested in that idea.

A few years back there had been a skype session where Cas had gotten himself into a bottle of whiskey. He’s got one of those faces that goes so very red when he drinks, and he slurs his words in a way that’s comical but still decipherable. By the end of the call, Cas had been weaving in his seat in an oversized tee-shirt that exposed a glimpse of his collarbone where the stretched-out neckline hung low, and Dean had thought it the most adorable thing ever (though he’d never tell Cas that). Cas is not that kind of drunk right now. He’s upright and in control, his limbs portraying no hint of the alcohol coursing through his system, and his words are clear and carefully chosen. His cheeks still sport the telltale hue, but that’s the only sign Dean can see that says he’s on his seventh beer. Dean’s not sure if he fares as well. He feels fine, if a little high on the excitement of finally having the man he’s Disney-movie-level sweet for sitting right across the table, but he doesn’t exactly feel drunk. So it’s gotta be nerves that have him grinning like an idiot, fiddling with his napkin until it’s ripped to fuzzy paper shreds, and nearly knocking his glass of water over when he reaches across the table to… why was he reaching across the table again?

Being that it’s Friday, the place is packed. Eventually, the ambient noise gets to a point where they practically have to shout to carry on a conversation.

“Let’s get out of here,” Cas bellows from across the table. Dean assents, but it takes real, physical effort not to sling his arm around Cas’ shoulder as they step out into the muggy evening air, and he’s gotta keep his eyes on the ground in front of him to keep from staring at Cas’ lips.

“I’ll walk you back to your hotel and call a cab from there,” Dean announces when they’re about half a block away from the restaurant.

Cas looks at him sideways. “You got somewhere to be?” he teases.

Dean shrugs. “Nah. Just figured you probably wanna sleep at some point.”

“Sure. Eventually. But I’ve been waiting a long ass time to hang out with you. The night’s still young,” Cas says with a grin. A couple blocks later they pass a liquor store and Cas veers in, emerging a couple minutes later with a bottle of Jim Beam in a paper bag.

Cas’ hotel room is nothing exciting. It’s the standard bed-desk-nightstand arrangement, a single king along one wall with a dresser and a TV on the other. There’s a small balcony that looks out over the city, two deck chairs and a tiny table taking up most of the space. It’s high enough up that they have a decent view of the skyline, but Dean only takes it in for a moment before Cas comes up behind him.

“Do me a favour, go get some ice? The machine’s on this floor I think.” He hands Dean his keycard and the ice bucket. Dean uses the few minutes it takes him to fill the ice bucket and come back to the room to give himself a mental shakedown. He needs to get his fucking head in the game and remember that this is his _friend_ , first and foremost, before he does something stupid like kiss him and make the whole thing really fucking awkward. Dean implores himself to man up, stow his crap, and just go enjoy his friendship with Cas for what it is. A friendship.

When he gets back to the room Cas is sitting on one side of the bed flipping through the channels on the TV looking just as gorgeous as ever and nope, Dean’s not going to survive this. The next week is going to be incredibly awesome because, yeah, he finally gets to hang out with Cas, but it’s also going to be medieval torture. The effort of constantly reminding himself that he’s not entitled to touch is going to actually kill him. Cas turns to squint at him, head inclined to the left just so, and Dean realizes he’s just standing in the doorway with the ice bucket in hand.

“You can come in, you know. I’m not going to bite you,” Cas teases. Fuck. Dean’s going to die. Here lies Dean, killed by sexual tension. Cas gets off the bed and takes the ice bucket from Dean, who still just fucking stands there like he’s frozen in time, out of sync with the world around him. Cas busies himself with ice and bourbon and glasses, and at least when Cas hands him a drink he manages to mumble out a ‘thanks.’

TBS is playing Die Hard. It’s an excellent conversation starter in that Dean literally cannot shut up about how much he loves this movie. After a few minutes he forgets to be intimidated by the lovesick elephant in the room and gets back to having a good time.

“Yippie ki-yay _Mister Falcon?????”_ Cas blurts out incredulously, nearly spilling his drink in amazement. “ _That’s_ how they censor that line? That makes zero sense. There isn’t even a character named Mr. Falcon in this movie. I don’t get it.”

“That’s the Turner Broadcasting System for you,” Dean laughs. “Can’t just bleep things like everyone else. Gotta do nonsensical dubs. You should see what they do to Snakes on a Plane.”

“I don’t even wanna know,” Cas groans, dragging a palm down his face like he’s personally embarrassed by the entire ordeal. Dean decides he needs to hear it anyway, setting his drink down and digging deep for his best Samuel L Jackson impersonation (which is, incidentally, just fucking terrible.)

“I’ve had it _,_ ” he bellows, “With these _Monkey Fighting Snakes_ on this _Monday to Friday_ plane!” Dean shouts. He sounds nothing at all like the iconic badass, and the image is ruined further when he splashes bourbon down the front of his shirt. Cas collapses into a fit of incredibly manly giggles, and it makes Dean’s heart ache with joy to see him so happy.

“Oh my god,” Cas laughs, wiping a tear from his eye. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Nope,” Dean tells him solemnly. “No word of a lie.” The bourbon is soaking through the front of his t-shirt and clinging to his chest, but Dean ignores it. It’ll dry.

“Oh my god your shirt. Here. Let me grab you a towel.” Dean tries to protest, but Cas is already half way to the bathroom, and ignores him completely besides. He comes back a moment later with a fluffy white hand towel and gets all up in Dean’s space, blotting at the liquor on his shirt while standing closer than is strictly necessary. It’s definitely too close for comfort and it takes everything Dean has not to reach out and pull Cas closer. He barely stifles a whimper when Cas drags the towel across his throat (Dean hadn’t even noticed the liquor spilled there,) but the sound is startled right out of him a moment later when Cas’ lips brush gently against his own, soft and chaste and oh so hesitant.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Cas blurts out, dropping the towel to the floor and backing away. “I shouldn’t… I couldn’t resist.” He drops his eyes to the floor, unable to look Dean in the eye in the aftermath, so he doesn’t see the grin that breaks across Dean’s face. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Well don’t stop on my account,” Dean murmurs, his voice low, and the look on Cas’ face when his eyes snap up off the floor is so priceless Dean wishes he could take a picture. His eyes go wide, lips parted in surprise, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to take the hint so Dean does the only thing that makes sense. He closes the distance between them, setting his drink on the nightstand as he goes, and taking Cas’ face in both his hands, Dean kisses him, slow and tender and deep.

Cas tastes like bourbon, obviously. Dean must taste like bourbon too. He’s tasted a lot of bourbon in his days, and scotch, and whiskey. Rye too, sometimes, when he’s feeling adventurous. None of it has ever tasted as good as it does on Cas’ lips. Cas is immobile under his touch for a startled few seconds, then he catches his breath and kisses back, clinging to Dean for all he’s worth. His hands find the hem of Dean’s shirt and work their way up under to slide across the muscles of his lower back, and it’s the most delicious sensation, pressed up against the thing he’s wanted most for all these years that Dean reels from it, head swimming. It’s definitely not the booze that’s making him light-headed. Nope. Definitely not.

Cas cups a hand to Dean’s ass and grips him tightly, pushing their hips together and grinding his cock against Dean’s thigh, and Dean nearly short-circuits at the feeling of that hot, hard line pressed against him. He stifles a little moan against Cas’ mouth and drops hands away from his face to skim across Cas’ chest, firm and muscular, and he doesn’t resist at all when Cas guides him backwards. He falls to the bed gracelessly when the backs of his legs hit the mattress. Cas climbs atop Dean with a bit more composure, pressing a knee between Dean’s thighs to rut against him as he resumes kissing the very breath out of him. Dean sighs, so full of enjoyment, and grips Cas’ hips like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

He’s confused when the kissing stops. Cas breaks away to look him in the eye and it’s suddenly so real, so personal. Dean moves to draw him back in but Cas resists.

“You’re drunk,” Cas points out bluntly, like he’s only just realizing this now.

“Yeah. So are you.” Dean tries to kiss him again, but he won’t be moved.

“I don’t want to do anything we’re going to regret.”

Dean’s face falls. Something in his chest breaks. He should have known better. Of course this is only happening because they’re drunk. He never should have let his emotions push this. Cas is his _friend,_ goddamn it, his best friend. And now Dean’s ruined everything. Every fibre of his being is shouting at him to run, to put as much distance as possible between Dean and this embarrassment. He has just enough presence of mind to send up a silent prayer that Cas is drunk enough to forget the details of this stupid, stupid mistake so Dean can pretend he never fucked everything up.

He can’t run, though, because Cas is still perched over him, and Cas’ knee is still pressed against his achingly hard cock. And Dean doesn’t get it. It makes no sense why Cas would decide he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want _Dean_ , and then keep him trapped here in suffering. And then Dean’s brain catches up and he takes in the soft way Cas is looking at him, the warmth in his eyes.

“Quit panicking, you idiot,” Cas commands with kindness in his voice. “I just mean, fuck, I don’t wanna screw this up. Let me take you out to dinner first at least.”

Dean might actually die laughing.

“Did we not just go out to dinner together?” he points out through peals of laughter. The relief Dean feels flooding through his veins is fucking palpable.

“Applebee’s is a shitty first date. Also, I think in order to qualify, we need to actually be aware that we’re _on_ a date.” Cas drops to the bed beside Dean and rests a hand on his stomach, splaying fingers out in a gesture that Dean is perfectly happy to interpret as possessive. “If you don’t have plans tomorrow, we could maybe go somewhere that isn’t a chain restaurant, and you could let me buy you dinner, and we can do this, you know, properly.”

“That’s crazy talk,” Dean counters, but he can’t hide his smile. “But I suppose it makes sense. I should probably go home then. I’ve got a big date tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to be too tired to make a good impression.”

Cas grins and walks him to the door. It’s a little awkward, the conversation stilted, but then Cas pulls Dean close and kisses him softly, and Dean’s walking on air. He doesn’t even remember texting Charlie during the short cab ride until his phone rings as he’s walking through his apartment door.

“ _What do you mean he kissed you???”_ she shouts as soon as he answers the call.

“Well,” Dean replies cockily, “I mean he put his lips on my lips, and there was some tongue, and then…”

“Shut up,” Charlie barks at him. “I know what kissing is, you asshole. I mean, like, context. Tell me a story. Did you bang? Is he in love with you? Are you guys gonna get gay-married and adopt a herd of cats? Can I be the best man?”

“Slow your roll, Bradbury. He kissed me, then he apologised for overstepping, then I kissed _him_ , then it got heavy, and then he called a stop because he didn’t want to do anything we’d regret.”

“Oh sweetie,” Charlie replies, her voice heavy with pity. “I’m so sorry…”

“For what?” Dean chirps cheerfully. “We’re going out on a real date tomorrow.” Charlie’s squeal is deafening.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god. I told you. I fucking told you. Never doubt me again, motherfucker.” She’s giggling and Dean’s pretty sure she’s doing some awkward kind of victory dance around her living room. “Ok, so, like you’re not seeing him again until tomorrow night then right?”

“Uh, I guess not,” Dean shrugs, then realizes she can’t actually see him through the phone.

“So you’re free for brunch and battle strategy tomorrow then, right?” And Charlie never takes no for an answer when she’s asking something like that, so Dean agrees without fighting it. Whatever. It’ll keep him occupied until dinner anyway.

\-----

“So,” Charlie begins, all business-like and upright. She managed to wait until the waitress took their breakfast orders to lay into Dean about the big date, but only just. The woman has taken a total of two steps away from their table. Dean hasn’t even taken a sip of his coffee yet. “You’re going on a date with Castiel tonight. What’s your game plan?”

Dean just stares at her across the table, dumbfounded. “Game plan? What the fuck are you talking about. I’m going to go out for dinner with Cas, and it’s gonna be awesome, and if I’m lucky, I’m getting laid. No game plan.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot. What are you gonna wear? When’s the last time you got a haircut? Do you have like, that one pair of underwear that makes you feel incredibly sexy? Have you manscaped?” Dean throws his hands up in exasperation.

“Dude. Stop. This isn’t breakfast conversation. Actually, I’m not sure there’s ever a time that is right for this conversation. Just don’t.” He cuts off and drinks deeply from his coffee, careless of how hot it is.

“Fine, I retract the last two questions. But you wanna look good, don’t you? The haircut thing is valid, and you should put at least some thought into what you’re wearing. Where is he taking you?” Charlie heaps sugar into her coffee, stirs it, takes a sip, and then adds another teaspoon of the stuff just for good measure.

“Uh, Bone’s? He said the concierge at the hotel recommended it.” Cas had mentioned his choice via text this morning just before Dean dropped by the hotel to pick his car up.

“Wow. This boy doesn’t fuck around.”

“I’ve never been there,” Dean tells her dismissively.

“It’s fancy as fuck. Huge steaks. You’re gonna want a suit and tie. And I strongly suggest leaving that two-day stubble you’ve got going on right now, by the way. It’s working for you. After breakfast, we’ll go pick out a new tie that brings out those pretty eyes of yours.”

“Do I have any say in this?” Dean asks with a sigh as the waitress sets their meals down on the table, a mountain of waffles for Charlie and bacon and eggs for Dean.

“Not a word,” Charlie tells him. “Just trust me. I know what I’m about.”

\-----

Dean meets Cas at his hotel at 7 pm sharp that evening in his nicest suit, a medium grey three-piece that he usually reserves for important meetings. Charlie insisted on a green and bronze striped necktie that she’ll probably say later was just a friendly suggestion, but Dean feared for his life if he didn’t buy the thing, so he’s wearing it. It does look pretty good on him, he’s got to admit. And he let Charlie drag him to the barber’s for a trim even though he didn’t really need it. That girl is a force of nature when she gets an idea in her head. Dean knows he’s looking good by the time he gets there, and he’s feeling pretty awesome, but it pales in comparison to how stunning Cas looks when he steps into the lobby in his perfectly tailored suit, black with tiny pinstripes, and a dark blue tie with tiny little dragons woven in to the fabric.

“You look great,” Dean tells him honestly, and Cas actually blushes, averting his eyes from the praise.

“Thanks,” Cas replies quietly. “You too.”

They take a cab to the restaurant and make small talk as the driver works his way through traffic to their destination. Castiel has made a reservation, so they’re led immediately to a table with red leather chairs and a crisp, white tablecloth. The hostess hands them each a menu and sets a wine list on the table, leaving Dean sitting across from Cas.

“This place is pretty fancy,” Dean points out. Cas picks up the wine list and flips through it, though he doesn’t appear to be paying much attention to the words on the page.

“I asked the concierge for a nice restaurant that makes good pie,” he replies with a smirk. “It’s a bit over the top, I know but…pie.”

Dean smiles. “It’s like you know me or something.”

“Or something.” He sets the wine list down with a rueful laugh. “I just remembered you don’t even like wine.”

The waiter happily brings Dean a beer when he asks, and Cas smiles at him as he sips his glass of merlot. This is not Dean’s kind of place. He’d go somewhere like this if the office was picking up the tab but if he’s going to spend his own money on steak it’s going to be somewhere a bit more rustic. At least the company is good. It takes Dean a while to get over the sense that he’s out of place here but it’s the first date he’s been on in years that he actually _wants_ to go well, so he puts in the effort. There’s none of the small talk of usual first dates because they already know each other so well, but there’s still the edge of newness because at least from Dean’s perspective it’s the first time he’s ever looked at Cas and seen something he could actually have. He could love Cas for real instead of just quietly from afar. This could be real.

Dean orders steak and Cas orders lamb chops, and over dinner they have a conversation that could easily have occurred over any one of their skype calls. The words aren’t any different but the tone has changed. There’s a subtle shift in the air between them. By the time the waiter sets a slice of the restaurant’s apparently famous Mountain High peach pie between them with two forks, Dean knows he’s done for. It’s the first time in his entire life he’s willingly shared pie.

\-----

Once they’re in a cab and he’s given the driver his address, Dean mentally tours his apartment to make sure he didn’t leave any dirty underwear on the floor in his panic to get ready, and tries to reassure himself that he’s got condoms and lube and that he actually put the sheets back on the bed when he washed them. And there’s this nervous sort of electricity in the air for the entire cab ride. All Dean wants to do is lean across the back seat and kiss Castiel breathless, but it’s a well-known fact that it’s just super rude to do that in a taxi so he keeps his hands to himself. He doesn’t even push Cas up against the elevator wall like he wants to and he’s _super_ proud of that. He manages to wait until they’re inside the apartment with the door locked behind them before he even allows himself to acknowledge just how much he wants to get Cas naked at that exact moment.

Cas, for his part, seems to be right there on the same page. He backs Dean up against the door before Dean even gets a chance to act, kissing him passionately almost the second the lock clicks into place. Dean revels in the taste of Cas on his lips, darts his tongue out to lick into Cas’ mouth, and then they’re off to the races. There’s hands everywhere, pawing at clothes to get at whatever skin they can reveal. Dean shudders when Cas gets his lips pressed to Dean’s throat and suddenly he can’t think straight, he just whimpers and lets Cas render him totally fucking useless. And they’re not even naked yet. He’s not going to survive this night.

“This is a very nice hallway,” Cas murmurs against his throat. “Are you going to show me the rest of the apartment?”

“Should we start with the bedroom?” Dean retorts, regaining enough mental function to kick off his shoes and take Cas’ hand, leading him around the corner into his bedroom. He’s relieved to see that he was right, he did remember to make the bed. He works loose the knot on Cas’ tie and gets to work on the buttons on his shirt. All the excitement is making Dean want to race and get Cas naked as soon as possible but he forces himself to slow down and savour every touch, every caress. He’s been dreaming of this moment for years and it’s only right that it be memorable.

Graceful it is not. Cas nearly falls over when he tries to take his pants off without removing his shoes first. Dean’s arms get stuck in his shirt and he ends up straight-jacketed in the thing until Cas can stop laughing long enough to help extricate him. And then Cas is naked, and Dean is still wearing his pants, and he freezes because he took Charlie’s advice and now he’s really, really questioning the sanity of that decision. But there’s really no way around it, so he breaks eye contact with Cas’ questioning gaze and opens the button and fly on his pants, slowly removing them to reveal pink satin panties stretched tight across his hips, straining to contain his erection.

Cas gapes, mouth working soundlessly as he takes in the sight. Dean can’t decide whether to be embarrassed or defensive until Cas takes a step forward and presses the palm of his hand to Dean’s crotch, grinding slowly as he leans in to kiss Dean softly, reverently.

“That’s pretty hot,” Cas tells him between kisses. Dean groans, hands clutching at Cas’ hips. The heat of Cas’ hand combined with the soft fabric on his cock feels positively sinful. He fights to keep still as Cas touches him gently, exploring his body with careful caresses. He toys with the waistband of the panties, teasing a finger underneath to skim against Dean’s skin, running so close to the leaking head of his cock but just managing to evade touch. Dean squeezes his eyes shut with the effort it takes to remain standing. Cas runs the palms of his hands up and down Dean’s thighs, over his stomach and chest, and then carefully guides Dean onto the bed on his back.

Perched on his elbows, Dean watches Cas climb up after him. A slow smile creeps across his lips and he works his way up Dean’s body with hot kisses pressed to his inner thighs. He drags his mouth over Dean’s hips, letting his hot breath gust across Dean’s cock, now wetting his panties with precome and when he hooks fingers under the waistband to pull them down, he does it agonizingly slowly.

Cas gets his mouth on Dean’s dick, working him with lips and tongue and hands until Dean is so hard, so turned on, he can’t even decide what he wants. The heat of Cas’ mouth drives him crazy, the wet slide of his lips coaxing gasps and groans from Dean’s mouth. Cas licks and sucks at his cock, making these filthy little noises of pleasure as he does, and eventually Dean has to stop him or this whole thing is going to be over before it gets started.

“What’s wrong?” Cas inquires with an innocent look on his face that Dean doesn’t quite believe. He pulls off Dean’s cock slowly as a trickle of spit runs down Dean’s balls, still slowly stroking with his hand.

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything is… god that feels good. But it’s gonna be over way too fast if you don’t stop.” Dean inhales sharply as Cas leans down to lick the head of his cock one more time, just to be a tease, before crawling up the bed to perch atop Dean and let himself be dragged into a kiss. Dean can taste himself on Cas’ lips as he works a hand between them to wrap around Cas’ cock and stroke him firmly. Cas moans, grinding his hips against Dean’s hand.

“Can’t have that,” Cas whispers against his ear. “I’ve waited long enough for a chance to get in bed with you. You have condoms?”

“Yeah,” Dean groans. He splays his free hand out to reach for the nightstand, falling far short of his goal. Cas pulls away momentarily to follow the path of his hand and open the drawer, retrieving a condom and a bottle of lube, and Cas pulls back so he can kiss his way down Dean’s body and settle between his thighs. He takes his sweet time teasing Dean, circling his hole with a slick finger and delighting in the soft sounds he makes before finally breaching the tight pucker with the tip of one finger. Cas works it in slowly, carefully, before adding a second, then a third, twisting and stretching until Dean is whimpering and clutching the sheets, just shy of begging for more.

Cas rolls the condom on and lines himself up, but takes a moment to steady himself before going any further. He catches Dean’s eye and holds it, not daring even to blink as he slides in slowly. Dean’s mouth falls open in a gasp as he takes Cas in. His eyelids flutter, hands clutching at Cas’ arms, and the way Cas looks back at him says he completely understands how overwhelmed Dean is by the emotion of the moment.

Cas leans forward onto his forearms so he can fit his mouth to Dean’s and kiss him deeply as he starts to move in slow, shallow thrusts. Dean sighs, his legs wrapping around Cas’ waist, and soon they’re moving as one. Cas can’t bring himself to stop kissing even as his pace quickens. Eventually they’re just panting against each other’s mouths, Cas bucking into Dean and Dean fitting a hand between their bodies to stroke himself towards orgasm.

It’s intense. Dean’s had lots of sex before. Lots. But he can’t think of a single time when he’s felt this level of intimacy with a person. Cas touches him like he’s a gift, kisses him like he wants it more than breathing, and when Dean comes, Cas rides him through it with so much awe and reverence in his eyes that Dean almost has to look away. He doesn’t slow when Dean’s orgasm subsides, just keeps fucking and kissing, and Dean clings to him, his brain hazy with endorphins.

Dean’s cock is still trapped between them, rubbing between their bodies as Cas moves, and it’s oversensitive and it should be too much, but Dean loves every second of it. He loves the feeling of Cas pressed against him, mouthing hot kisses along his jaw and throat, loves the way Cas’ muscles move beneath his fingers as he holds him close, loves the way Cas thrusts in to him and leaves him feeling so full. Its decadent, the way Dean feels totally blissed out. Cas goes stiff above him as he comes, his mouth falling open to emit a soft groan, and Dean kisses him everywhere he can reach, rolling his hips up to meet Cas’ and tease every last bit of pleasure out of the moment that he can.

Cas collapses to the bed beside him, sheets sticking to his sweaty skin, and Dean pulls him close with an arm around his waist.

“So pretty good first date?” Cas asks softly. Dean just laughs and holds him closer.

\-----

Dean goes to work on Monday, but his brain is elsewhere. Tuesday isn’t much better. He’s back in Cas’ company the second he’s off the clock. Some nights they spend in Cas’ hotel room, some nights in Dean’s apartment. They fuck. They make out on the couch and watch movies, rutting against each other like horny teenagers. They learn each other’s bodies almost as well as they know each other’s personalities after all these years. It’s glorious. Cas even meets Sam on Thursday evening over burgers and beer, and when Cas goes to shake his hand when they leave, Sam laughs and pulls him into a bear hug.

“You’re practically family,” Sam tells him, and Cas can’t stop beaming.

Dean decides that Cas needs to meet Charlie. He loves that girl to pieces and obviously he loves the shit out of Cas, so of course they need to get to know each other. He’s a little worried that she’s going to get back on the “when are you guys getting married,” thing, and the last thing Dean wants right now is a reminder that there’s an expiry date on their time together, that eventually Cas has to go home and Dean has to go back to reality. But she’s either taken a crash course in tact over the last couple days or she can see the worry in Dean’s eyes when he introduces them, because she keeps her mouth shut. Kind of. She still prattles on about how cute they are together which Cas accepts with a graceful blush, and she still makes some off-colour buttsex jokes that Dean would have laughed his ass off at if they weren’t about him, but that’s just normal Charlie and he’s used to it. And they do get along, thank fuck. Dean’s not sure what he’d do if they butted heads.

When Cas finally goes home to Seattle, reality finally sets back in. It was so easy to live in a happy little bubble for the whole week and the joy survived through work on Monday, but the second he steps back into his empty apartment it all crashes in at once. It was great. It was awesome. But now Dean has to live in reality, and that reality is one where Cas lives on the other side of the country. For all Dean knows it’s going to be another seven years before they’re in the same state again. It sucks.

He’s about to text Charlie and bemoan his terrible life when his phone plays Cas’ ringtone.

“Hey,” Dean says into the phone, trying to pretend like he’s not moping around his apartment like a sad motherfucker.

“Hey,” Cas replies, and he sounds like he’s having a way easier time with this than Dean is. Or maybe he’s just not hung up on it. Maybe it was just a fling for him and he’s totally fine. Dean tries to shut down that train of thought before he makes himself feel even worse.

“It’s quiet in here.” Dean says. He hopes Cas hears his real meaning.

“I miss you too.” Cas sighs. “Um, hey, listen…” he begins, and Dean can feel it coming, the dismissal. The pronouncement that he can’t do this, that they need to go back to being friends. “So there’s a contract position at the Atlanta office. It’s only 6 months, but if I want it, it’s mine. If you’re interested we could, I mean, if you want. You know. While I’m out there. We could give this a try.”

“Are you serious?” Dean cries. He can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Nevermind,” Cas counters quickly. “It was presumptuous of me. I shouldn’t have…”

Dean cuts him off firmly. “Cas, shut up a second. Do you really mean that? You could be living in Atlanta?”

“Temporarily,” comes Cas’ cautious reply. “I mean, the position is contract, but there’s sort of an understanding that if it goes well we could be negotiating a permanent relocation.”

“When do you move?”

“Well I haven’t formally accepted yet. I said yes but we haven’t actually signed the document. But I think I’d probably be flying down in about a month.”

“Son of a bitch. I thought you were calling to blow me off. This is way better!” Dean is so very glad this is a phone call and not a skype call because there isn’t a single thing he can do to stop the stupid grin that spreads across his face. There may or may not be fist pumping. “So wait. You knew. You knew about this the whole time you were here?”

“Well the meetings I was in town for were interviews, yes. But I wasn’t offered the position until I got back today. So not technically.”

“You amazing sneaky bastard,” Dean laughs.

“So you’d want to?” Cas asks bashfully.

“Want to what? Date you? Castiel Novak, are you askin’ me to go steady?” He just can’t help himself. “You get your ass back in this godforsaken city the second you’re able so I can kiss your stupid face. How’s that for an answer?”

And suddenly Dean’s not moping anymore. He’s walking on sunshine. Things are far from settled; he still has to wait for Cas to actually move to town and there’s certainly going to be an adjustment period. And it’s no guarantee that they’ll get their storybook ending. It is, however, a drastic improvement over the whole ‘I’m in love with my long distance best friend’ thing. As soon as he’s off the phone with Cas, Dean’s going to have to call Charlie, but he’s already dreading it. She’s insufferable when she’s right.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been to Atlanta a total of two times ever. I took the MARTA from the airport to a station downstairs from the hotel I was staying at for Dragon*Con, took an escalator into a food court that was connected to said hotel by a covered walkway, and basically did not leave the hotel for the entire weekend. Having said that, I did do at least a little bit of research, and Bone's is totally a really restaurant, and they totally have large pies. It's a fact. The internet says so.
> 
> Also, because my beta didn't believe me, here's a link to the TBS edit of [Snakes on a Plane.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4t6zNZ-b0A)
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr!](http://shennanigoats.tumblr.com) I'm nice or something.


End file.
